


Standing Still

by Yevie



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Brief mentions of Joan Watson, F/M, Spoilers for The Woman/The Heroine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:26:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yevie/pseuds/Yevie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drabble based on the concept of 'what if Moriarty escaped from prison and met up with Sherlock after,' that focuses on Sherlock's thoughts and feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standing Still

**Author's Note:**

> The season finale gave me feels, so I was inspired to write a drabble. It's mostly just about Sherlocks emotions/feelings. Perhaps someday, I'll write a companion piece focusing on Irene's feelings.

He takes a shuddering breath, can feel his body trembling as her warm breath blows past his ear. Her hand is on his cheek, stroking down the rough stubble. He bets she can read just how long he hasn’t shaven based of that. Bets that she can tell by the shallow puffs of air coming from his nose that it’s hard to breath right now, that just being near her is too much. (Perhaps she’ll use this to manipulate him. Sherlock isn’t surprised that the thought hurts worse than the bullet wound in shoulder. He is surprised that he barely feels any anger. Strange, he tends to cling to grudges.)  

Normally, he would do the same. Deduce her. Not manipulate her. Even now, he doesn’t want to hurt her. But, he doesn’t trust himself with the details. Irene, no, Moriarty, is still his blind spot. And, perhaps, she’s still deceiving him; even now as her fingers skim lightly down his face, trail his neck and land on his shoulders. Even as they gently push down, almost like a suggestion, so that he sits down on the chair. It’s wooden and cracked. Small splinters press against the fabric of his jeans.

There’s the desire to make some smart-ass comment about how the chair matches the décor of the concrete room painted with chipping paint. Or, perhaps make a morbid crack about how it reflects the horribly twisted relationship they have. But, for once, only sounds like small gasps and whimpers are coming from his mouth.

He sees her smile. It’s a small, unreadable smile sort of smile that makes him wonder what exactly she’s thinking. Even when she was just ‘Irene,’ he couldn’t decipher her thoughts. Then she leans down and presses a small kiss to his lips. It still tastes the same, like coffee with an after taste of iron. Her lips are still just as soft as before and the way his hands tangle in her hair and the way she cups his cheeks hasn’t changed in the least. 

“Sherlock,” she breathes into his mouth. Perhaps this is just his imagination, but he notes that her voice is quivering.

“Moriarty,” he says, and it’s the first time he’s been able to speak since he got here. It makes him tremble harder, makes his eyes feel watery. At the hospital, he didn’t cry. Pride in Watson had kept him stable. He barely flinched when he heard that Moriarty had escaped from prison, not desiring to show how afraid he was. But, with her here and no Watson to make him feel safe, Sherlock is cracking.

Only when Moriarty’s hands wipe the wetness from his cheeks does he realize that he’d actually started to cry. He looks at her, his grey eyes wide, searching for her reaction. Is she disgusted? Satisfied? Perhaps, concerned? But, her face is unreadable. He envies her ability to do so.

“Sherlock,” Moriarty says again, and presses a kiss onto his forehead.

That is enough for him to break into sobs. The word ‘why’ is stuck in his throat. He wants to ask her so badly. Wants even more to be able to read her reasoning on her face. For this to be simple. It’d be easier if he could stop loving her, hate her for lying and manipulating him. But, she still clings to his heart. Maybe had even managed to make him love her more, if that was possible. But, Sherlock can’t even make out his own reasoning.

“Shhhh….shhhh…” She croons, gently rubbing his arms. “I won’t hurt you.” She kisses him, more fiercely than before and he pulls her to him. It’s messy and sloppy and so unlike them, but they don’t stop. They just cling to one another. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Sherlock hears a voice that sounds an awful lot like Watson’s say ‘she’s afraid of you too.’

When the kiss is over, they just stay there, foreheads pressed against each other. Sherlock doesn’t know how long they’ll stay like that. He’s pretty sure neither of them knows how to move forward and so for the moment, they stand still. 


End file.
